Undefeatable
by thegirlwhowondered
Summary: As it turned out, bloody, brutal, blackhearted Cato wasn't so undefeatable after all. Clato! Birthday present for Chrissa, who I love dearly 3 Warnings include: swearing, mild themes and LOTS OF ANGST. I've never written Clato before, so let me know how I did, yeah? xx


**Quick Disclaimer:** About the end I AM SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I'VE NEVER WORKED WITH THIS PAIR BEFORE SO I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING TO COME OUT WHEN I PUT FINGERS TO KEYBOARD OK

**Kate, why are you writing Clato all of a sudden when you've never so much as spoken a word of it before?:** Ah. Well, there's a reason for this. You see, today – the 23rd of May well it is now in Australia, only just – is the anniversary of the birth of a very special person. Her name is Carissa. She's amazing, and if you've never spoken to her, then your life is sad and empty and I feel sorry for you. Happy birthday, Chrissachu, and keep being amazing, ok?

Enjoy ;D

* * *

Cato never doubted, even for a second, that he'd get his place in the Games. He was stronger and far more deadly than any of the other volunteers. Not to mention, he actually _looked_ like a victor. His sheer height and bulk were enough to intimidate most people, and coupled with those icy-blue eyes, no one had ever challenged Cato and expected to live to tell the tale. Come to think of it, the Volunteer Trials and one other minor exception notwithstanding, no one had ever actually challenged Cato, period.

He was, after all, undefeatable.

Now all there was left to do was crush the other tributes in the Games, and finally Cato would claim what was rightfully his: the title of victor.

He'd spent his whole life preparing for this. Training by day, studying the tactics and strategies of previous victors by nights; and any free time to him was just more time to make himself ready for his ever-impending victory.

And now, here he was. The alliance was set, and he had the perfect plan to take down every last one of his competitors, from the rest of the careers right down to the Bitch on Fire and her loverboy.

There was one little problem.

It wasn't even really a problem as such. More of a…nuisance. And it came in the form of Cato's fellow tribute, that short, dark-haired girl from his district, Clove something or other. Oh, Cato was confident that he could take her out when the time came, easily enough. The issue was, well, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Why? He didn't know.

Cato had met Clove a few times over the past few years. They'd trained together for the games. She was lethal with those knives, even he couldn't deny that.

"_You're in my way."_

_Four words, four very brave words from such a tiny little girl. Cato, naturally, was certainly not intimidated._

"_Yeah?" He rounded on the girl, whose nametag identified her as 'Clove'. "And what are you going to do about it?"_

_Much to Cato's surprise, Clove wasn't shaking in her boots as most people would be by now. The corners of her mouth tilted up in a smirk that seemed almost frightening on such an innocent face; and before Cato could even react, a knife had managed to imbed itself in the doorway, a mere inch from his ear. _

_Cato stared down at the girl, who confidently stepped forward. She kept eye contact as she raised a hand and, with a tug, pulled the knife out of the doorframe. She allowed the flat of the blade to graze along Cato's neck as she brought it back down to its home on her belt. The tension in the room then was so tangible that it was becoming difficult to breathe. _

_And then, all at once, it shattered when Clove stepped around Cato and continued on her way out the door. _

Clove was the only person to ever openly challenge Cato like that. She was the one exception when it came to the "Cato is unchallengeable" rule. But rather than make him angry, honestly, it just made him intrigued. She didn't look the part of a psychopath, but she was almost as deadly as him with those knives and that killer smirk.

That was the day everything started to become complicated. Cato was, and always had been, bloody, brutal and blackhearted. He could take out anything he needed to, to get what he wanted; and that's exactly what made him victor material. More than that, he _wanted_ to take out anything that got in his way. His bloodlust was insatiable. And yet…and yet, he didn't want to take out Clove. The thought of causing her death and ensuring his victory filled him with something similar to sadness, and actually made him feel a little sick inside. And whatever this new emotion was, made him downright furious.

How dare she? _How dare_ this little bitch come into his life and think that she could turn everything he'd worked so hard for upside-down?Where the fuck did she get off playing these twisted little games of hers?

_Cato reached out and grabbed the girl by the arm, slamming her hard against the wall. He wanted to make her pay for that little slice of humiliation (even though there had actually been no one else around to see the knife incident). "You have no idea who you're making an enemy of," he growled, leaning down over Clove until their faces were mere inches apart._

"_Get. Your hands. Off. Of me," Clove hissed, trying to jerk away from Cato's grip. "Let go of me, or I swear I will cut you."_

"_Are you threatening me?"_

"_That wasn't a threat." There went that evil smirk. "That was a friendly warning."_

"_I hope I get you in the arena. I will enjoy tearing you to pieces in front of all of Panem."_

"_You'll never get the chance." _

_Once again, it became near impossible to breathe. Cato leaned in closer in an attempt to be more intimidating, but somehow found himself drawn in a little too close…and their lips met. _

_This was no sweet, romantic kiss either. Cato shoved Clove back against the wall once again, more forcefully this time, his hands digging hard into her hips as their tongues battled for dominance. Not to be outdone, Clove dug her nails into Cato's arms. She wasn't able to draw blood, but those half-moon marks took weeks to fade. _

_Only when they were both completely desperate for breath did Cato pull away. Hesitantly, he loosened his grip on Clove before letting go altogether. After one final staredown between the two (no words were spoken – what do you say after a kiss like that?), Cato turned on his heel and stormed away from Clove. She was a threat to his very world, and he vowed then and there that if he couldn't keep her at arm's length, he would have to eradicate her. _

Oh, but that was so much easier said than done. After they were both announced as victors (of course, that was just Cato's luck), he bailed her up on the train on the way to the Capital. Nothing came of that meeting except another intense and very confusing kiss.

Cato was slowly losing control of his mind over this woman. She was all he could think about, even as he attempted to prepare for the biggest battle of his life.

"_I wonder if you're as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, Cato."_

_Cato loosed the arrow that was strung to his bow before turning around to face Clove. She was standing straight with her hands behind her back. "Too bad you'll never know."_

"_Or maybe I'll know sooner than you think." From behind her back she pulled out two swords, tossing on in Cato's direction. It landed on the ground with a loud crashing noise. _

_A laugh escaped him. "Oh, you don't wanna do that."_

_Still, Cato picked up that sword. He wasn't about to underestimate Clove. "Try me," she teased, waving her own around in the air almost tauntingly. _

_No one taunted Cato and left unscathed. _

_Cato brought his sword down on Clove. He was fast; she was faster. Clove had dodged Cato's attack and was standing off to his left before he had swung the blade below his shoulder. _

_Damn, he was off his game today. _

_Clove laughed, and took the next swing, which Cato deflected with ease. She swung again after that too, and before long it was an all-out battle, which resulted in some odd form of stalemate, and every pair of eyes turning to them. Cato had Clove from behind, and his sword up against her throat. Clove managed to get her own sword pressing firmly into Cato's gut. They were perfectly matched. _

"_Alright." The supervisor blew her whistle and carefully pried Clove away. "Let's save that for the arena, ok?"_

_As Clove was dragged away and the other tributes went back to their own training, Cato found himself being tugged to the other side of the room. He came quietly for a change, but only because he was too focused on Clove to notice what was happening around him. _

_Nobody had ever matched Cato before. _

And now it was the night before the games, and Cato was facing the very real possibility that he could lose Clove forever. In fact, it was more than possible, it was almost certain. These were _his_ games after all.

Naturally, there was no way he was going to sleep that night, especially not with Clove so stubbornly imbedded into his every waking thought. With nothing else to do, Cato decided to go for a wander around the second floor until his brain decided that it would shut up long enough to let him get some sleep.

But as he stepped out of his room, Cato's trained ears picked up a sound he didn't hear very often – unless he was training with a partner and in a really bad mood. Someone was _sobbing_.

Cato crept along the hallway and pushed the door across from his open. He found himself in Clove's room; and there curled up on the bed was the psychopath herself, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her face hidden in her arms.

Cato had never been good with tears. In fact, he'd always thought they were weak. So it didn't make any sense to him to see someone as strong as Clove – she was certainly, undeniably strong if she could match him after all – huddled up against her headboard and sobbing like she was. He just couldn't fathom it.

Cato took a hesitant step forward, but Clove's voice stopped him in his tracks. It was thicker than usual and full of some kind of emotion he couldn't identify.

"Fuck off, Cato."

Three little words that somehow seemed like a turning point.

Cato could have headed back to bed, smug with the knowledge that Clove was weaker than she acted, and ready and eager to kill her and anything else that stood in his way of winning the Games. Or he could throw away everything he'd worked so hard for on one simpering little girl and stay the night to comfort her, even though he knew that this kind of attachment would surely get him killed.

In spite of every thought that ran through Cato's head, every instinct that made his gut churn and every little thing he'd ever been taught, Cato found himself edging closer and closer to the bed until his legs hit the edge. Without any clue as to what he was doing, Cato sat down in front of Clove and pulled her forward. Clove came willingly as Cato's arms found their way around her, and soon, he was rocking her back and forth while she cried.

"Clove," Cato whispered in her ear, brushing her dark hair back in order to do so. "Clove. Talk to me. Please…tell me what's wrong."

Cato had always been described as blackhearted, and he never denied it. But up until that moment, he never would have guessed that even a black heart could break. And yet, as he helplessly clung onto Clove with no idea as to why she was crying or how to make it all better, it did just that.

Clove found her voice eventually. "Cato, I…I…"

"What is it?" Cato tried to pry Clove off him enough so he could see her face, but she wasn't having it.

"I…" she swallowed. "Idon'twantyoutodie."

Pure silence followed for several minutes, as Cato searched for a response. When he found none, he decided to settle on the truth. "I don't want you to die either, Clove."

Clove wiped her tears away on Cato's shirt, and looked up into those blue eyes, which were softer now than they'd ever been. "There can only be one victor."

"I know." Cato brushed his lips over Clove's forehead, then the tip of her nose, before finally finding her lips.

This kiss wasn't like the other two. Cato wasn't sure what was possessing him in that moment – fear or stupidity or rebellion or whatever – but it was wonderful. Her lips somehow felt softer than they had last time. He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his skin as her eyes fell closed, and his did the same soon after.

Cato's hands began to move of their own accord; one settling on Clove's back, while the other found her hand and entwined their fingers together. He couldn't recall ever being so gentle with anything in his life. Was this what it was like to love someone? Cato had been trained to use his every thought and feeling to fuel his hate and bloodlust. It would keep him safe, they'd said. But what if they were, dare he think it, wrong? What if caring for another person didn't make him weak?

In spite of his unintentional gentleness, with each little caress, Cato began to feel more undefeatable than ever.

"Together." Cato broke away very suddenly to whisper that one word.

"What?" Clove blinked rapidly, as if she was snapping out of some kind of trance. "Together what?"

"Winning." Cato seemed determined. "We win together or we don't win at all, Clove. That's the deal."

Clove shook her head sadly. "There can only be one victor. They have to have their winner."

"Why?" He could hardly believe that he was seriously questioning everything his life had been made for, the night before his big break. "Why does there have to be one? How can that be right? Tell me, Clove, in what universe could it possibly be the right thing for us to _not_ be together?"

He gripped onto both of Clove's hands and brought them up to his lips. "You're my perfect match. Together, we're undefeatable."

A tiny, faint ghost of a smile spread across Clove's face. She looked almost…hopeful. "Undefeatable enough to take on the Capital?"

"We're undefeatable enough to take on the world."

* * *

As the evening rolled around faster than it should have, and the deafening sound of the Muttations howling filled the air, Cato stopped his brisk walking and spun in a full circle, stopping only when he'd spotted what he was looking for. A camera.

He glared right into the lens. There was no way the gamemakers would allow the speech that was to follow to reach the general populous of Panem, but he didn't care. As long as _they_ heard what he had to say.

"I am Cato. I come from district two, and tonight I am going to die. But I will not be defeated. No, that…that already happened. Eleven defeated me when he killed the only thing I had to live for." Cato's fists balled up. "All my life you made me believe that these games were the only thing that was worth surviving through, that I would be happy if only I could earn my title as victor, but you were wrong. You lied, you _fucking lied_, to me, to Clove, to all of Panem. And now she's gone, and none of you care, because you're too wrapped up in playing your little game to care. But I am not a piece in your games. I don't belong to you. I belong to her, to Clove, to the girl with the knives who you took from me. I accept my death gratefully tonight because it's the only way I will be able to see her again."

And with that, the defeated Cato straightened his shoulders, and made his way through the woods, taking what little comfort there was to be had in the fact that they would be together again soon.


End file.
